Fiends, fixes and critics skit

all quick t- shift their feet

          toll road hits ditches, chickens n’

          pigs [pens inattentively stitched in the streets.]

Everywhere you go: it's "bitch!"

"hoe!"       or,       "fuck police!"

          til eyes come 2 close–and I sit frozen stiff

          amidst a lit midnight sky, and Siren cries in my sleep.

          “Rise and shine! Rise and shine! Today

          we’ll see sunny skies and a high of 89!”

                    That’s funny… why? Couldn’t even play

                    outside: no parades, it just rained on the ladies in line.

          Wonder what kind of welfare for the well ain’t fair? Who wins:

          the greedy white guy, or gal in need with the skin of trees?

                    Off of office ramps tramps rant like ants

                    as they jam into the food stampede.

                    Dolla sto’ liquor sto’

                    –a sto’ that sells phones;

                              hair, nails, n’ knock-offs

                              –misspelled brands on clothes;

                    at the corner Hometown’s sign reads: Welocme!

                    across from penny-pickers, projects and abandoned homes

                              –the only irony is: if you wanna stay in Steel City for a vacation,

                              then probation is just might how you’ll go.